


Dragon Blood

by photonromance



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Animal hybrids, Crossbreeds, Food is People, M/M, Modern Fantasy- AU, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2106258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/photonromance/pseuds/photonromance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is a dragon half-breed from Louisiana taken into the black market for Familiars, or crossbreeds kept as slaves. Hannibal is very old vampire hunting the market for his evening meal when he comes into possession of the young dragon boy. Maybe they don't become as intimate as Familiars are expected to be, but they have each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dragon Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a pinch gift for the Hannibal Kink Meme that requested a High Fantasy AU involving dragons or vampires. I sort of went with both.

The Market is quaint enough. It's the only high class Market in the City, a poaching ground for nobles and rich socialites. They're all flushed with wine and ripe with notes for whatever pitiable creature they choose. Normally, Hannibal deliberately avoids such bloated mortals, their allure fading quickly as the ages passed. He's been lonely, he can admit, but not so desperate. The Market is little more than a curiosity. (Perhaps some whimsy in him flickers, hoping for a chance encounter, a flash of eyes and instant attraction in a crowded room. He can admit to being lonely, but not to that.) The crowd is richly dressed and the way the perfume of their bodies clashes and morphs and blends would be painful if Hannibal hadn't learned long ago to block out their stench.

The hall where the Market is being held is hyper modern and everywhere dark edges jag against more sensuous white shapes. It's not Hannibal's once Venetian piazza, but modern architecture has it's appeal. The evening is growing late and though the patrons are thinning out, there's still quite an exotic selection on display. Crossbreeds have always existed, in varying degrees of social acceptance, but having a crossbreed is Vogue once again and human subjects are being skipped over for Familiars. Kitten creatures are all the rage this season. 

Instead of cages, the merchandise is displayed in lovely little Plexiglas boxes. The view is uninhibited and patrons can more easily pretend they aren't shopping for pet.

There are dead eyes all around. Hannibal drifts from one display to the next and all he can find is the hollow chill of old cruelty. There's no point in buying broken toys. There is nothing of interest to him here. 

Outside, the cold is biting and Hannibal breathes deep. He's cold himself, come hungry to a feast of flesh and leaving the same way. Nevermind. Blood and cheap champagne are not his favorite, but it will do. Hannibal chooses the parking lot, casting about for a decent car that might have a drunken master. It's an Audi he chooses, flashy red and brand new.

The master doesn't take long. He is drunk, but a stout man, hauling a slender creature behind him. The Familiar has it's hands wrapped around the lead, hauling backwards. The patron is too big for him, healthy the way the Familiar is starved. Hannibal has chosen this man, therefore he will die tonight, but this struggling creature is not like the numb whipping posts inside those glass boxes, perhaps he stands half a chance.

He has a tail, the Familiar, and he wraps it around the fat man's ankle, hauling as he grips his coat. He's strong for being so slender, throwing the man to the asphalt. He's winded, but not unconscious, until the Hannibal kneels and grips his hair, giving him a second solid slam against the ground. Hannibal rises slowly to lean against the side of the car and watches him sit back, panting lightly, on the patron's torso. He looks triumphant.

"You'll be put to death for that." Hannibal says, tracking the Familiar's recoil. He's some sort of reptile. Backs of his arms appear rough and bumpy, their color muted in the darkness.

"Only if you tell." He's not all there, the poor thing. He's new and young enough to lack the proper scars around his throat and the collar has already rubbed him raw. He smells sick as well, a delicate soursweet in the heat of his scent. Hannibal wonders if the fever his addling him. "You're not human yourself."

Hannibal smiles. "No, I am not. And perhaps that is a good thing, for you."

The Familiar glances back toward the building, his tail flicking before looking back up at Hannibal. "Will you help me?" He asks, the first notes of panic touching his voice.

"I cannot assist an unowned Familiar who's just committed a crime." Hannibal looks pointedly down at the lead and boy's eyes widen fractionally. "However..."

The Familair casts about briefly, gaze falling to the lead still dangling from his collar. His ears darken. The boy snatches up the lead and lowers his head as he raises his hands. "You have to discipline any... any Familiar that belongs to you." 

Hannibal contemplates the boy a moment. He's a handsome thing, unbroken by his status just yet. There's something to be said for Familiar blood as well, fever or no. He crouches, picking up the car keys.

"Come now," He opens the passenger door and motions the boy in, "Patrons will be leaving soon and we can't have you seen like this."

___

The Familiar's name is William. He's a dragon crossbreed from far south, accustomed to hunting fish in the gulf. Baltimore's climate is not good for him and he hasn't been allowed in the water since his capture. He's been come undone slowly since that day. The fever overwhelms him just a few days after coming into Hannibal's home. 

His dragon blood means beginning with his tail leading up the curve of his spine is a scaly roughness. The rough is a pale blue, likely bleached by his illness. Will's eyes are blue as well, unsettling and unfocused. 

Will is rolled in blankets, shivering on the guest bed. Hannibal purchased him an electric blanket and keeps his room warmer than the rest of the house. He needs heat after so long in the cold. Hannibal is too cold himself to offer much comfort. He sits beside Will regardless, monitoring his progress and feeding him broth made rich with the thigh bones his previous Master.

When it begins to break, his fits of shivering shorten and Hannibal offers him a bath. He hasn't eaten much and is already starved, so Hannibal aids him to the master suite, propping him with a shoulder to help him shuffle along.

The water is steaming and it makes the air thick and even Hannibal's cool skin is tacky with moisture. Will sighs as he melts into the tub. Four days worth of bundled thrashing has left his hair damp and oily. It looks disgusting and Hannibal pours a generous amount of soap into his palm before suddenly submerging Will. He washes mercilessly and Will submits without much struggle. His hair is a bit longer wet, silk soft and sensitive enough to wring a shiver out of Will. Once he's washed and rinsed, Hannibal lets him soak in the heat for as long as it lasts.

It isn't a cure all, but Will looks much better after his bath. He accepts Hannibal's offer of hot soup and fresh bread. Hannibal doesn't eat, not anymore, but it would be wasteful to leave a drained body to rot and there's poetry in feeding Will warm spoonfuls of the man who thought to crush his lovely spirit.

Hannibal watches him fix up the pool in the back of his massive house. It's indoors and can be made warm to suit Will's taste. Hannibal sees to it that it is made ready for salt water and Will spends hours in it, floating or sinking to the bottom where he can remain for almost half an hour without breath. He tries to offer his thanks at first. Hannibal looks up from a fine roast, rested from hours in the oven, and quirks a smile. He offers a sliver of meat and Will plucks it from his fingers before he's willing to eat it. He does nod when Hannibal asks what he thinks and he never thanks Hannibal again.  
___

Will knows what Hannibal is. Said as much the moment they met. They don't talk about it. Or the fact that Will does actually belong to him now. It's a little crude, Hannibal thinks, and decides they don't need to worry about it, so long as Will is willing to put it aside.

He's gained back his proper colors, a rich light blue on his ridges that melts into pale flesh with barely a hitch. Hannibal thinks he's beautiful, tells him so periodically. Will doesn't ever respond. Not out loud.

Their growing closeness is silent.

After Will is better, he comes into the master suite when Hannibal is resting. It was only one time, and then a second, which turned into a third. He comes almost every day now. He never says anything, just curls up at the foot of the bed on whichever side Hannibal is not occupying. Hannibal wakes long enough to notice him. They don't touch. Don't acknowledge the arrangement in their waking hours.

Hannibal hunts alone and saves some for Will's dinner each evening. He's been alive hundreds years and gained more than his share of skills in the kitchen, despite not needing to eat and Will's lanky frame fills out under his careful eye. 

It's early and Hannibal is still waiting for sleep to claim him when Will comes in. His sleeping pants are not wrinkled. He doesn't even try to sleep in his own room anymore. The covers barely shift as he climbs up. Hannibal says nothing, only reaches out and catches Will's arm as he goes.

Blue eyes meet his own maroon.

Only silence.

The sheets are silk and Will slides against them easily when Hannibal drags him close. He tucks under Hannibal's chin and folds his arms to better fit. His hair is clean and soft and smells like the soap Hannibal buys for him. Will's tail shifts restlessly for only a moment or two before settling over Hannibal's thigh. 

The next morning, they don't speak about it, but Will lets Hannibal feed him spoonfuls of scrambled egg and sausage made from a rude young waitress.


End file.
